


no stranger would it be (if we met at midnight)

by chatonnerie



Series: The Hanging Tree [1]
Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) RPF, 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Interviews, Lan Wangji's Stage Fright, Lan Xichen is too good for this world, M/M, Minor Character Death, Reaping, TW:, The Beginning, Wangxian in the Hunger Games, from Wei Wuxian's prettiness, save this poor boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 09:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20864141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chatonnerie/pseuds/chatonnerie
Summary: Wei Wuxian moved with joy in his steps and the sun in his eyes, every gesture, every expression, absolutely fearless.As Lan Wangji watched him tip back, hair blowing in the breeze of the arena, he just couldn’t understand it.Compared to that, Lan Wangji was . . .He was . . .He was . . .





	no stranger would it be (if we met at midnight)

**Author's Note:**

> Me: plans to post a one shot as a break between my multi-chapter wips
> 
> Y'all: throws unconditional love and support at this AU
> 
> Me: . . . MORE IT IS
> 
> (So yeah, this thing now gonna be a short series)
> 
> Once again, this was inspired by an ask on @lansizhuis' blog (https://lansizhuis.tumblr.com/post/187788508725/because-ive-fallen-back-into-the-hunger-games-i), go check them out if you haven't, they're amazing!!
> 
> title of fic and series taken from the Hunger Games' 'The Hanging tree' because I'm predictable and every lyric in that song sounds like an edgy fic title
> 
> Now that I've gotten this done, I will be going through all the comments on the first part, but just quickly thank you thank you thank you to everyone who left kudos and/or comments!! Enjoy!

Wei Wuxian moved with joy in his steps and the sun in his eyes, every gesture, every expression, absolutely fearless.

As Lan Wangji watched him tip back, hair blowing in the breeze of the arena, he just couldn’t understand it.

Compared to that, Lan Wangji was . . .

He was . . .

_He was . . ._

* * *

Lan Wangji was scared from the moment his Uncle called him and his elder brother into the greeting room, only to find every Elder in the family gathered around them expectantly.

“It has been too long since our family has volunteered for the Hunger Games,” his Grand-Uncle spoke, voice detached, not a single person able to look at him. At his side, Lan Xichen straightened, startling in horror.

“Honoured Elder,” he had pressed his white hands together on his younger brother’s behalf, shaking, “please. You cannot be-”

“I am very serious, Xichen,” he had been shot down, “the Capital will say we think too highly of ourselves. And _all _of Gusu will feel the repercussions. We must do what is necessary. Unfortunately, you are too old, so Wangji is our only choice.”

Only choice.

Only choice because they decided to act this year when Lan Xichen couldn’t. Lan Wangji remained staring ahead, expression schooled as he had been properly taught even as something cold and cruel began carving its way deep into his heart. Two hands grabbed his shoulders and he blinked at the disruption to the usual order of the meeting as Lan Xichen appeared before his face.

“Wangji, you don’t have to do this.”

“Xichen . . .” Lan Qiren sighed, face stricken. Lan Xichen just turned to him, pleading.

“Uncle, please. Not Wangji. We can find a solution. You can’t let them just _take him_!”

“Maybe the Young Master needs a moment to himself,” one of the Elders murmured, and Lan Wangji could only stare as his calm, peaceful brother was dragged shrieking out of the room, clawing and in tears.

“Brother,” the room was silenced, even Lan Xichen pausing in his fight at the doorway to blink at the sixteen-year-old, “it is all right. I will win and return.”

He had meant it to be reassuring. To appease the brother he loved more than anything, to get rid of that terrible expression.

Lan Xichen’s face just fell into greater distress and Wangji seized up as the next head of the family was forcefully removed from the room, screaming his head off.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he turned back to his Uncle, confused by Lan Xichen’s reaction. His Uncle just gave him a few awkward shoulder pets, as he took his arm, guiding him back to his feet and leading him out of the oppressive room.

“From now on,” his voice was forcefully professional, “your training is tripled.”

The Reaping was a blur, of shifting faces and running children, of mothers and fathers giving hugs, of Peacekeepers moving through the ranks, and he moved mechanically through a process he’d already been through four times, but still couldn’t quite understand, the only moment of focus coming from the sharp prick of his finger, only continuing once the bloody finger was pressed down and he was sent to stand in line.

Gusu was one of the three Career Districts and the Reaping was always a chaotic mess. The girls went first, the name barely mentioned before eighteen-year-old volunteers were screaming, fighting for the platform. For Careers, the game began as soon as the Reaping arrived and he steadied his breathing, trying not to recoil from the racket as the lethally trained teenagers all fought tooth and nail to get to the microphone first and announce their name.

The one who succeeded was tall and willowy like most of Gusu’s population, but there was a wide smile on her face. 

(She’d just kicked in another girl’s face to reach the top, and Peacekeepers moved in to clean the blood off the stairs whilst she spoke her name triumphantly)

Their handler, a thin faced man whose name Lan Wangji had never ever bothered to remember just straightened his silver wig and moved to the next bowl.

He could feel the bunching crowd, all preparing to go and discomfort crawled across his shoulders, his spine, his stomach, clenching it and making him want to hurl.

As he raised a hand and stepped forward by the end of the name, the fervour in the crowd died. As the Lan glided out, not one other boy stepped forward, all of them frozen, and rigid. The girl, his fellow Tribute, so previously triumphant, now let her smile slip, terror in her eyes.

“I, Lan Wangji, volunteer.” he spoke succinctly, barely within the range of the microphone, not trusting that hearing his own booming voice wouldn’t make him pass out. His fellow tribute’s announcement had been met with cheers. His was met with dead silence, a chill over the whole crowd.

Gusu knew what it meant when a Lan had to compete.

Gusu knew what it meant if the competing Lan did badly.

Their handler concluded the Reaping hastily, feeling the thickness of the silence and hastening the ceremony, before shuffling them off to private waiting rooms until the train came past.

And, as he was sitting alone in the small office, Lan Xichen was finally allowed to approach him since that day in the family’s hall.

He didn’t react as powerful arms wrapped around him, as his brother whispered broken apologies into his ear, tears dribbling onto the nice shirt Uncle had laid out for the Reaping.

“Brother,” he opened, uncertain, “it is all right.”

He hesitated, and then pat Lan Xichen on the back for good measure.

Slowly the trembling figure pulled back and withdrew something from his pocket. 

“It is tradition. Take care of it.”

Lan Wangji stared at his forehead ribbon blankly, looking up in confusion. Lan Xichen smiled shakily.

“The Lan family is given an exception - even though it’s too big, we’re allowed to take it as our Token. Here.”

It had been a long time since Lan Xichen had tied his ribbon for him, kids taught as young as possible to prevent the awkward coughs of having someone else touch the precious item, but he didn’t protest, knowing his brother needed to do this.

Lan Xichen’s hands were still trembling but his smile had at least solidified back to its usual state.

“I will win.” He added anyway and Lan Xichen’s expression finally seemed to relax, reaching out to habitually straighten his shirt, his hair, his ribbon in pointless movements Lan Wangji knew were fidgets.

“You’d be the one who could.” His brother finally sighed, shoulders slumping, “I’ll be waiting. And I’ll be watching everything. Even if you feel alone, know that I’m supporting you, every step of the way.”

“I do not mind being alone.”

Lan Xichen huffed.

Technically his family was massive, but his _family _was really just him, Xichen and his Uncle, who was already out arranging the trip to the train as Gusu’s District mentor, so his brother got to remain with him for all the time set aside for family farewells. His brother’s hands weren’t still, his usual serenity in shambles as he micro-adjusted every single part of Lan Wangji’s outfit, gaze so serious and tight.

“I’ll be watching you.” He repeated, squeezing Lan Wangji’s shoulder, “Remember that - know that I’ll be right there, cheering you on.”

The door opened and peacekeepers came through, expectant.

Lan Wangji felt the first tremble, his breath quickening, as he glanced over, so scar-

Lan Xichen was staring at him in raw, naked terror and he swallowed down that cold lump.

“I will be back Brother,” he repeated, solemn, “don’t worry.”

“That’s my job, isn’t it?” Lan Xichen managed one last smile, reaching out.

Lan Wangji gave him a quick, out of character, squeeze.

Arms wrapped around him and clenched hard enough to hurt his ribs.

“Lan Er-Gonzi.” One of the peacekeepers stressed them for time and Lan Xichen exhaled, patting him on the shoulder as he pulled away.

“Right here. I’ll be right here.”

He nodded as he got up, escorted out by the peacekeepers and reaffirming to himself that this wasn’t goodbye.

(It sure felt like it)

“You are Career Tributes,” Lan Qiren told them right off the bat, as the sleek metal carriage flashed through the country, “which means that you’re probably far more deadly than most of your opponents.”

Without even blinking, he flung two knives. His female compatriot dodged it neatly - he caught it between his fingers.

Lan Qiren’s scowl was impressive.

“That is a mindset you must rid yourselves of immediately. Outer lying Tributes have an overwhelming advantage in one very important area - survival. The arena is a far greater threat to you than any of the other children thrown into the Games. We are fortunate in Gusu - we have access to food, homeless shelters, clean drinking water. Outer lying districts? They have nothing - so they find anything. They will know how to hunt food down, how to find water, how to use the environment to their advantage.”

He looked at them both very severely.

“Outer lying Tributes are murdered. Careers die from exposure. So. What is your first priority?”

“The Cornucopia,” she said, bright eyed and he stroked his beard.

“Exactly. The Cornucopia will have all the weapons you need to kill, and all the supplies you need to survive. Do not pick a fight with the other Career Tributes over it - far better to ally and share the contents, and then have to duel later, then to get chased off and be left destitute.”

They both nodded.

In the resulting silence, she straightened up with a stretch. “Ah well, I’m going to go look around. I’m sure you two have some things to say to each other, right? Just call me back if we’re talking strategy.”

She touched his shoulder, smiling, “Don’t worry, Er-Gonzi, I’ll have your back in the alliance.”

He just stared at the hand, and either she didn’t notice or didn’t care, only removing it as she left, the doors closing shut behind her and leaving the two alone.

Across from him, Lan Qiren seemed to slump, haggard. He turned, concerned.

“Uncle . . .”

Lan Qiren had never been affectionate - he had raised his nephews as his students first, and family second. So, Lan Wangji had no clue what to do when the man stood up, moved to his side in quick strides, and wrapped him up into his arms.

“I’m sorry, Zhan-er.” His Uncle whispered, “I’m so, _so _sorry.”

“It is not Uncle’s fault.”

His Uncle gave one of his short, grumpy huffs, before pulling back, sitting beside him. He was holding Lan Wangji’s chin, physically keeping their eyes linked like he did whenever he really wanted Lan Wangji to pay attention.

“Wangji,” he rumbled, “listen to me. Listen to me carefully. Do not join the Career Alliance.”

He tilted his head.

“The bloodbath will continue until only the Careers remain, at which point there is an almost unspoken agreement to stop fighting. Do not. Keep fighting. Kill them all immediately.”

He blinked. “Lying is-”

“I _know,_” Lan Qiren’s grip tightened, “I know. Everything you held true, everything our family holds true . . . the Capital will not care for it. They will want a show and you must remember that.”

He reached up and touched a nail to Lan Wangji’s brow, “Everything here?”

He moved it to his heart, “and everything here?”

He ended by pressing the palm of his hand firm against Lan Wangji’s chest, “Keep it in. Do not let anyone see it. Every Tribute wants to win. And they will do anything to accomplish that - do not trust. And do not consider anyone your friend.”

He blinked, “You are going to lead her to her death.”

Lan Qiren clenched his shoulder, “I could not keep you out of the Games. But I can do whatever is necessary to bring you home. You must be prepared to do the same.”

Oh.

Something clicked, as he watched his Uncle retreat to his side of the table.

(Everyone here was lying)

The following day, after an evening of listening to Lan Qiren and watching Game replays on his private room’s TV, their train pulled right up to the Capital. All the Reaping ceremonies had finished, and all twelve were being played consecutively on TV, beneath commentary. Most of them were the same, frightened children being led up to the platform by armed figures, Qishan and Lanling both engaging in similar squabbles as Gusu to get to the platform.

Throughout it all, Lan Wangji held that small cold ball deep within him, relieved as he watched his digitised self climb the steps that he hadn’t given anything away. His Uncle’s palm could still be felt against his chest, so he clutched his little bundle right against it, pulling away from the robotic shell sitting stiffly in front of the screen, trying not to react to the same feeling being displayed through the digital world before him.

(One face isn’t scared, and he blinked.)

_“There was quite a stir in Yunmeng this morning, wasn’t there, Commentator Yao?”_ __

_“Indeed - I don’t believe a District has ever sent _two _male Tributes.”_

Beside him, his Uncle let out a disdainful huff and the girl muffled a laugh with her hand. Lan Wangji finally focused.

On the screen in front of him, he watched a wiry teen trip the other figure scrabbling for the stage, as the peacekeepers shifted in confusion, the young woman between them pressing a hand to her mouth. In a rather impressive display of athleticism, as the other boy stumbled down, the tripper dropped his hands against his companion’s shoulders and used the other boy as a vaulting beam, flipping onto the stage in favour of the stairs and landing proudly, hands stuck up in a gymnast’s ‘V’, turning to the audience and then _bowing_, his face completely overtaken with a beaming smile, eyes sparkling as the whole audience was torn between laughing and gaping.

His face was flushed red in victory.

_“Wei Wuxian!” _He declared, voice not needing the microphone to carry clearly, _“ I volunteer!”_

The handler coughed.

_“Young Master . . . you can’t just volunteer for the _female _tribute.”_

_“Gender is a social construct!” _the other declared happily, _“so it’s totally fine, right?”_

The other Yunmeng male was staring at him like he was mad.

In fact, most of the audience was staring at him like he was mad.

_Lan Wangji _was staring at him like he was mad.

He looked. . . happy. Not happy in the self-satisfied way Careers did, but genuinely pleased about the outcome, as the two others he’d beaten to the stage stared up in horror.

(Lan Wangji realised, all of a sudden, that it would probably have been the look Lan Xichen would have taken had he been able to replace Lan Wangji.)

Before he could follow what happened next, Lan Qiren inhaled.

“Watch out for him.”

They both stare at their mentor in confusion. Lan Qiren steepled his fingers, “Yunmeng is not a Career District - but their mentor is Yu Ziyuan.”

The girl gasped and Lan Wangji frowned.

The infamous Violet Spider. She’d found a whip of lightening and slaughtered her fellow Tributes, including her male compatriot, without so much as a flinch. Her kill count still stood as the record of today.

“The girl chosen was Jiang Yanli, the Violet Spider’s daughter. I have heard her mention both a biological son and an adopted one - that boy does not bear the surname Jiang, but I’ll wager the other boy does. So, this one was still likely raised by her. He will know how to fight _and _survive.”

“He looks kind of dumb.” She mumbled and Lan Qiren frowned at her.

“Appearances are at their most deceiving when on screen.”

“Yes sir.”

Around them, the train began to grind slower, easing into the Capital. Lan Qiren just nodded, rising to his feet in one smooth motion and gesturing for the two to follow him.

“You both have your tokens?”

They nodded.

“Excellent. They will be the only thing you are allowed to keep. From now on, your every step, your every breath, all of it will be publicised. Any contrary actions will be broadcasted live to potential sponsors. Do not disgrace yourself, nor Gusu, or you will lose hope of ever surviving.”

“Yes sir.”

She saluted.

He just remained still, resisting the urge to check his forehead ribbon was straight. Before them, the platform flashed beyond the window, and steam billowed out from the depressurising doors.

“Remember,” Lan Qiren warned them, lips barely moving as the doors swung open to reveal the sea of reporters awaiting eagerly beyond, “the Hunger Games have already begun.”

He was going to be late.

He had taken a bath in his unnecessarily large room, disoriented after being put through the fine tooth laser comb that was the Capital’s beauty standards, and now was hurrying through the halls, his half done scholar-themed Opening Ceremony costume thankfully sturdy enough not to be too burdened by the haste.

He rounded a corner and almost collided with somebody.

The somebody yelped.

Lan Wangji blinked.

(Ah. This was him)

Wei Wuxian managed to somehow stumble back to safety, two jars of wine hanging from his wrist, his own outfit similarly incomplete - from what it looked like, his stylist must have dressed him up to be some kind of water spirit, long hair elaborately braided with feathers and fabric lotuses, an ornamental bow strung up over his purple threaded warrior’s tunic, face covered in flashy makeup and a golden netting decorating ever bit of bared skin.

“Oh my god, Lan Wangji, isn’t it?” Wei Wuxian exhaled, before grinning, “You’re late too? Thank fuck, now Madam Yu won’t get mad at me. Well, she won’t get fully mad at me.”

“You’re drinking.”

“Yeah, I know right?” Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes and took a happy swig, “Who could deal with this shit sober?”

He frowned.

_Everyone was lying._

Turning, he hurried off, ignoring the surprised call of the other.

“Ah! Wait, Lan Wangji! Lan Er-Gonzi! Lan Zhan!”

He felt his irritation spike and he glanced back in indignation. Normally, anyone faced with that look would quiver. Wei Wuxian just beamed brighter.

“Ah, so Lan Zhan prefers the informal, huh? I see, I see. Anyways, why were you late? I forgot the time, well, the time I was meant to leave. Actually, I just forgot entirely. Now my stylist is freaking out. How’s yours? Mine needs to calm the fuck down - he’s like constantly two seconds away from bursting into tears.”

(Maybe, if he ignored it, it would go away)

“And then, I saw the alcohol on the table, and it was like the call of a siren~ Oh, do you know what a siren is? They’re meant to be water spirits - I heard that Gusu has a bunch of canal towns, but that’s about it. Nowhere near Yunmeng - our entire District seems to be one interconnected lotus swamp. It’s so pretty!”

(It was not going away)

“At home, I always go boating out on the lakes - at sunset, it’s like you’re swimming across golden water. It’s the best time to drink! Not that there’s ever a bad time. Want some?”

Lan Wangji looked down to find one of the jars in his face.

Wei Wuxian beamed, “Come on! I’ll share it with you.”

He picked it up, and then stared him dead in the eye.

“Alcohol is forbidden.” 

As he tipped it out, the grin on Wei Wuxian’s face fell, as he stared aghast at the spilt drink. And then he glanced up, face overtaken by a pout.

“Lan Zhan! What was that for?!”

He glanced away, dismissive, then froze.

They’d reached the chariot hall beside the Opening Ceremony stadium and everyone was staring at them.

Wei Wuxian blinked at his sudden freeze, before similarly realising they’d just broadcasted all of that down the corridor.

“Oh. Hi everyone! We got lost!”

“No we didn’t.”

“Oh don’t be like that Lan Zhan! It’s fine, it’s fine.”

“Maybe you did. I didn’t.”

“Even the perfect Lan Zhan can get lost, it’s all right to admit to it~”

He scowled furiously at his fellow Tribute and Wei Wuxian grinned back, a challenging glint in his eye.

“Shameless.”

“Haha! Yet here you are, getting so worked up over a little accusation. Lan Er-Gonzi~ you’re actually - OW OW OW!”

“Can you be serious for once in your god forsaken life?!”

Lan Wangji backed up as the infamous Violet Spider came up from behind them, snatching her Tribute’s ear with a scowl fierce enough to melt an unworthy man. Wei Wuxian was entirely unbothered.

“Hey, the jars were _just there_-!”

“Not another word you ungrateful little twerp, I’m going to flay the skin off your back-!”

She dragged him away by the ear, purple lightning sparking from her hand and Wei Wuxian waved cheerfully at him.

“Bye bye, Lan Zhan~ AH, not the _hair_. This is domestic abuse!”

They linked up with his stylist, a frantic young man in black and green, fan all aflutter as he dragged the teenager away, manically fiddling with his Tribute’s hair ornamentation.

“Wangji.”

He moved to face his Uncle, saluting.

“Forgive me.”

“No need, you were not quite late. There are even still some Tributes to come,” his Uncle was watching the other boy, stroking his beard with narrowed eyes, “try to avoid confronting the other Tributes though.”

“Yes, Uncle.” He bowed again and Lan Qiren nodded.

“Good. Let’s go - your stylist is waiting with the final parts of your outfit.”

Yet as soon as they were led over to the fine jade white chariot, someone else approached them.

“Well, well, well,” Wen Chao’s voice was grating as ever, the same smug look on his face that he’d been wearing on the TV after kneecapping another to get to the stage first, “Lan Er-Gonzi, huh? Who knows, I might _actually _have to take the Games seriously.”

The Qishan Tribute came right past them, smirking, “May the Best Man win right? Though I’d start on that farewell message to your folks if I were you.”

“Wen Er-Gonzi,” Lan Qiren’s voice was cold and dismissive, “thank you for greeting us. Please return to your mentor.”

The man, and he was a man, one of the few eighteen-year-olds in the Games, just sniffed, nose in the air, sailing off to the red chariot emblazoned with a sun. Lan Qiren clicked his tongue.

“What is that Wen Ruohan thinking?”

“The Wen family are not required to volunteer, are they not?” he mumbled softly, and his Uncle sighed.

“Never mind it. It is out of our control anyway - just hold yourself with more decorum than that spoilt man child.”

He sent the preening man another look, watching as he and his fellow Tribute wrapped arms around each other and cooed with sickeningly sweet tones, about a dozen cameras catching them from all angles.

His response was low enough that only his Uncle could hear.

“That’s not going to be hard.”

_“The training room,” _Lan Qiren had explained on the train, _“is important. But not for training.”_

Their whole group of twenty-four were all gathered around each other, standing before the head trainer, no one quite touching - it was hard to be affectionate with people you knew you had to kill to go home.

“There are four compulsory tasks. After that, you are free to explore all sections of the training rooms,” she glanced over them all severely, “you have three whole days to spend in here, so use them wisely. Anyone can swing a sword and throw a hatchet, but the arena is as, if not more, deadly, than your competitors. Do _not _underestimate the survival stations - exposure kills just as completely as a knife to the heart.”

_“Avoid the weapons, or at least the ones you’re comfortable with - you’ll want to keep your full skills a secret until your individual evaluations. The weapons training is mostly for Tributes who’ve never wielded them before._”

Lan Wangji didn’t go near the weapon sections, nor the weight training stations, no matter how much his body was craving a few hours of sword practice to loosen up all the tension that stress had knotted into his stomach.

Instead, he completed the four compulsory stations, which were really just four parts to a physical exam to check no one was about to die of asthma or early malnutrition in the middle of the Games, and then he moved through the survival stations, watching how to track animals, learning to dig for water and studying which plants could be eaten and which could kill you.

_“Most importantly, this will be the first time you can interact with your fellow Tributes without a swarm of cameras watching your every move - after all, the only people allowed to spectate training are the gamesters.”_

“Oh my god, I _love _your hair! You guys have some _amazing _genes in Gusu!”

His female compatriot had grudgingly been following him through the survival stations, but she brightened up as the female Tribute from Qishan opened conversation. The two girls headed off, soon joined by the Lanling female Tribute, all gossiping like old friends as they flung knives with deadly precision.

He could see Wen Chao and the other Lanling Tribute, a distant branch member of the head family named Jin Zihao, he believed, both eyeing him.

He ignored them completely and they seemed equally happy to leave him alone and just converse between the two of them. The other Tributes were sending them uneasy looks, a few approaching, a few avoiding.

The _actual _male Tribute from Yunmeng was one of the few to approach them, shoulders pulled back and stance confident. They even had a bit of the laugh.

(Where was the other one?)

The ‘politics’ of such lasted all through the first day, by which most of the Tributes had gotten bored of the survival stations and were now speaking with weapon trainers, some eagerly, others desperately. The Careers were almost lazily moving through them all, preening before the gamemasters.

Lan Wangji refrained from doing so, all the way through the first day of training, and then well into the second.

He had just finished successfully completing his sixth fire, when a voice called high from above.

“Show off.”

He blinked and sent only his eyes up towards it.

Wei Wuxian was reclining in the training room rafters, rather well hidden from beneath by the black bars he was spread out across, and Lan Wangji felt a degree of exasperation to realise he had somehow obtained _another _jar of liquor, which was currently dangling from his hand.

Instead of criticising the other’s clearly budding alcoholism, he just turned back to his training.

“Aw, you really gonna ignore me, Lan Er-Gonzi?”

“There is nothing performative about fire starting.”

Wei Wuxian shifted above him, before humming in understanding.

“Oh, no, forgive this one for his lack of clarity. I’m not accusing you of being a show off. I’m _telling _you _to _show off.”

He frowned, and stood up, brushing fake dirt off his training pants as the Yunmeng Tribute lithely swung down using one of the support pillars, leaning out of direct sight from nearly all the training room.

(As he must have been doing for nearly all their time in here, Lan Wangji frowned in realisation)

“I mean, those Careers? They’re eyeing you like you’re some sort of trapped pheasant.” Wei Wuxian’s grin could be heard in his voice, “Lan Er-Gonzi is being so rude and unsociable that none of them seem to like you all that much.”

“It does not affect me.”

“Oh, I’d disagree,” the teen rebutted, voice light, “the mighty Lan Er-Gonzi might be able to take on each of them, but how do you reckon you’d fare against _all _of them?”

He remained silent, and thus was fully aware of the sudden shift in the other Tribute’s voice, any trace of light-heartedness replaced by something dark and cynical.

“You’re being too subtle. They’re going to think you’re really just easy pickings. Do something to scare them off, or they’re going to all gang up on you at the start. And maybe you can _try _to handle that, but no one’s handing out points for effort in the Games.”

He clenched his jaw and glanced across, watching that Adam’s apple bob as Wei Wuxian swallowed a generous mouthful of wine.

“Why?”

They weren't friends. They had barely talked. Most of it had been an argument.

Wei Wuxian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and went back to grinning.

“Because it makes me sick watching the five of them eye you like you’re some prize to be divided. Maybe I just want to see you scare the arrogance right out of them.”

_Everyone was lying_.

Maybe he wanted to see Lan Wangji do something. Maybe he was tired of Lan Wangji showing as little as he. Maybe was just curious.

(Maybe he was sincere)

Either way, it didn’t change the fact that all five of the other Careers had indeed been sending him odd looks for the past two days, continually grouping together and whispering.

A reason made the ‘odd’ part a lot less so.

It couldn’t hurt. And if Wei Wuxian really was just serving his own ends, then he knew what to do to spook the erratic teenager.

Stifling his fire as shown, he lightly stepped off the platform and left, for the first time, the survival area. He ignored the sudden looks that garnered, not just from the Careers, simply walking past the weapons sections to the strength training area.

After a moment of looking around, he found something that would serve his purpose.

“Might I try this?” he asked the trainer politely, gesturing towards the throwing hammers. The trainer nodded.

“Of course, Tribute Lan. Have you done this before?”

He nodded.

“Then please select the weight that you feel comfortable with. Don’t strain yourself before the games.”

He nodded again.

Each of the throwing hammers had been arranged in a neat row in front of the thrower’s circle, the range spreading out from the net in the usual cone, reaching all the way to the wall. He didn’t so much as hesitate, ignoring the surprised call from the trainer, the gasps from the spectators, Tributes and gamemasters alike, as he went straight for the heaviest.

He hefted it up without a stumble, easily carrying the hammer over to the circle. With a smooth couple of steps, he flowed through a single spin, bunched his arm muscles, and hurled it. The entire training room echoed with the crash, and he watched, vaguely satisfied, as painted chips rained down from the wall, the hammer completely sunk in, beyond the end of the coned target area, visible to all from the huge cracks spreading out from where he had half buried the weight into the metal and plaster.

As he turned, the entire room just stared, agape, the trainer stammering his apologies, and the Careers all rigid at their various weapon stations. But, as he glided back to his survival training with his head held high, there was only one set of eyes he sought out.

Wei Wuxian had returned to his hidden perch in the rafters and, alone amidst the whole crowd, his lips were tilted _up_.

Catching Lan Wangji’s eye, the grin only widened, as the Yunmeng Tribute held out his hands and silently applauded.

(He could feel the hungry eyes of the gamemasters as he moved through his most complicated steps, sword finally twirling around him fluidly and countless training dummies lying ‘dead’ before him.

He barely reacted, later than evening, when a [12] was presented beside his picture.

He straightened when Wei Wuxian’s smiling face, because the photographer had given up on trying to make him hold a straight one, was lit up with a very alarming [10])

They had the whole next day off for the Interviews that night.

(And then the Games began the day after)

Lan Qiren had already been guiding them through strategies and answers that would garner sponsors, but over those last twelve hours, he amped it up to the max. Lan Wangji had a fairly simple ‘character’, thank his ancestors. He had already generated quite the austere public image, and so would be clad in an icy blue and white suit, hair left loose and flowing, crowned in gold.

And since an Ice Prince didn’t talk to commoners, his Uncle had given him the full go-ahead to say as little as possible, restricting himself to mostly nods and head shakes. Much more focus was instead on his compatriot, getting her to practise walking in heels, all willowy elegance and grace, and he thankfully retreated with his stylist, only really emerging when it was time to go down.

Most of the other Districts were already in the holding room of the Interview stage, mentors left at the doors to head off to the audience, only their head stylist present.

Lan Qiren gave them both nods, they saluted in response and he headed off, as they were tugged in so their stylists could go about with their finishing touches. Most of the Tributes were silent, muttering things under their breaths. One or two were repeating introductory lines over and over. Others were more silent, eyes closed, visibly going through calming motions.

One pair were making the vast majority of the noise, and their identity wasn’t any sort of surprise.

“Wei-xiong, I swear, if you get _one tear _in this sleeve, I’m going to cry and then it will be awkward for everyone.”

“Go ahead and bawl, Nie-xiong, I can’t _fucking breath_, some of this shit came from a corset, I swear.”

“Oh, waah waah, you have an amazingly aesthetic body type, you’re so unfortunate.”

Unlike all the other guys, who were in variously elaborate suits - Lan Wangji, with all his embroidery, a fine blue net settled over his hair to make it glint like ice and the golden crown ornament holding up a small topknot, was likely the most elaborate of them all - Wei Wuxian had instead ditched the suit for a rather dramatic get up, a leather, shoulder less, corset-like top, elaborate black fine mesh sleeves attached separately, wide enough to drape over the floor. Black (really short) shorts were covered in immense loose silver mesh pants, looped on with about five belts and his bare skin decorated in silver glitter. Red was woven throughout the whole ensemble, completed with his lengths of hair styled down like a veil in of itself, only a few strands from his bangs tied back, and red feathers once more woven through. It looked like some amalgamation of a devil theme with an S&M outfit.

And yes, it did look quite tight.

Wei Wuxian saw him looking and immediately grinned, hand moving against the wall to pose.

“Like what you see?”

He just looked away and sighed inwardly as Wei Wuxian took that as a cue to clip over to his side, rather impressively considering his black leather boots had _heels_.

“Oh god, I feel like some of my innards have been rearranged. Ancestors. Kill me now. Who needs an arena? I’m going to asphyxiate before I even reach the stage.” He gave Lan Wangji a glance over, “You look lovely by the way.”

He deliberately turned his head to another side, staring pointedly at the wall and Wei Wuxian sighed.

“Mm, nice to see you too, Wei Ying. You look nice as well, Wei Ying. Is that outfit safe, Wei Ying?”

“It’s perfectly safe, Wei-xiong, so stop moving, I can get some more of those belts tighter.”

His own stylist just shook her head, continuing to apply gold dust across Lan Wangji’s eyelids.

Around them, the other Tributes were just staring, a bit incredulous, and Lan Wangji could take a vague guess at why. Before this, Wei Wuxian . . . well, he hadn’t slipped under the radar because he didn’t think that Wei Wuxian was actually capable of doing such, but he had certainly been somewhat dismissed.

But now?

([10])

Lan Wangji hadn’t been surprised that _he’d _topped the training scores. But Wei Wuxian had nabbed second place, beating the remaining _Careers_. A lovely score in that coveted top 3 range.

Wen Chao, clad in a brilliant white and red suit as his stylist nervously tried to apply makeup without getting snapped at, was glaring daggers at the energetic teenager.

And worst of all?

Wei Wuxian hadn’t shown _anything _during training, except maybe a propensity for high places and alcohol. Lan Wangji was aware of the polls already happening - his Uncle had talked them through it during the day. Despite having little battle expectation, Wei Wuxian had enamoured a _lot _of people already. Only a fool would think someone so comfortable under a spotlight would do badly during this interview. Now with that ten?

An airhead had become a _threat_.

Though, as he watched Wei Wuxian teach his stylist a dumb little dance that involved arm swinging and hip shaking, waiting for the show to begin, he sort of wished he would _act _a bit more like a threat.

Interviews were important after all - it was the first time sponsors got to ‘meet’ their Tributes.

Lan Wangji knew the way the Games worked - it was popularity as much as skill. It didn’t matter how good one was with a sword, if you were dying of some unfathomable horror the gamemasters had cooked up, it was entirely up to whether your sponsors wanted you to live. He had enough of an image to keep him atop the favourites, so his job tonight was pretty much _not _to stuff that up.

(The peacekeepers came in, to lead out the stylists, some having to be literally dragged away from correcting one last hair curl, fix one last sequin. His own stylist gave him a reassuring smile and headed out, already fully accustomed to how little he enjoyed brushes in his face and hands on his skin. Wei Wuxian’s stylist sent him a threatening gesture behind his fan as he was led out)

They were all lined up in District Order, girls then boys, as the looming door before them swung open and

oh.

That’s what it sounded like?

The audience’s roar collided onto him like a wave and he resisted the urge to physically recoil.

Thankfully several other Tributes looked similarly terrified, as the commentator’s voice, booming through the microphone, finally echoed all the way down to them.

A name rang out over the loudspeakers and the girl hurried up.

The procedure was simple - their name would be called, they’d have a total of two minutes with Commentator Yao, before moving to sit on prearranged chairs already up on the stage, one for each of them.

Simple.

_Simple._

Oh, Ancestors help him, this didn’t feel simple. It felt like every punishment in his life, every ashamed kneeling before the elders over a broken rule, every disappointed look in Uncle’s eye when he didn’t move quite cleanly enough, that all-encompassing despair seeping over him as he sat in front of a door he refused to believe wasn’t going to open-

“Hey, hey,” he jumped at physical contact, a quick tug on his sleeve. Amidst the terrible blur of Tributes leaving them for the stage and a horrifying audience, Wei Wuxian’s voice was a crisp knife, “it’s going to be fine. Who cares about the audience? Just focus on that commentator and block out the rest.”

He could feel his ears burning at being read so easily, snatching his sleeve free and turning his back on the Tribute. He tried not to scowl as Wei Wuxian’s laugh sounded behind him.

With a tidal wave of applause, the twelve-year-old male Tribute from Baling hurried over to the chairs atop the stage to join the other finished Tributes.

Wei Wuxian stretched up his arms, uncaring to how it made his billowing sleeves slip down, muscled arms flickering from the glitter speckled over them. “Well, that’s my cue. Wish me luck, Lan Er-Gonzi~”

“Shameless.”

“. . . we’ve seen him break every expectation set before him! You might all know him as the volunteer from Yunmeng, but here, we know him as . . . the sensational Wei Wuxian!”

Wei Wuxian danced up onto the stage, outfit shining with each unnecessarily active movement, hair wafting as his own veil, smile beaming bright and both hands up and waving. The audience’s cheers swelled to their loudest of the night, his own energy reflected right back at him and despite his better judgement, Lan Wangji watched all the more closely. Wei Wuxian, instead of the usual handshake, wrapped an arm companionably around Commentator Yao’s shoulders, sitting on the plush chair with his legs crossed beneath him and his chin leaning against an arm, both casual and calculating all in one, only enhanced by the dramatic red and black makeup. 

His ‘character’ was obvious. A ‘mischievous imp’, through and through.

“Lovely to have you here tonight, Wei Wuxian.”

“Thanks! Oddly enough, I don’t hear that a lot!”

The cheers became laughs as he grinned over the crowd without an ounce of fear.

“Now, I believe I speak for us all,” the commentator redrew his attention, “when I say how thrilled we are to have you here in the Capital. Is that true?”

The audience cheered, louder than ever.

“From the moment you stepped atop that stage in Yunmeng, I think you’ve had the Capital’s eye right on you. Charming, a threat to be reckoned with according to our wonderful gamemasters, and handsome to boot! Your outfit looks wonderful, might I say.”

“I know right?” Wei Wuxian’s rapid, astonished answer just prompted more laughs, “My stylist is pretty wild, not gonna lie. He came up to me and was like, ‘how would you like to wear wings to the Interviews?’ and I had the audacity to laugh and agree if he could pull it off. So.” He held up a dramatic sleeve, “Now I have wings.”

“Yes, yes, but! It would be remiss, to talk about the stir you’ve picked up, and neglect a certain Tribute from Gusu.”

“Oh, yeah,” Wei Wuxian grinned and Lan Wangji scowled, knowing the other knew he was watching, because that look was definitely shit eating, “he’s pretty as all hell, isn’t he? Terrible personality though, so I guess it evens out - I was _so _friendly to him during training and he just. Kept. Ignoring me. I think he thinks I’m annoying. Do you guys think I’m annoying?”

At the cheers, he placed a hand against his chest and gasped in faux offence, much to the audience’s delight.

The Commentator let the sound wind down, before he sat forward.

“However, why don’t we talk a bit about your family,” the crowd hushed as Wei Wuxian’s expression became suitably serious, “You volunteered for your adopted sister, yes?”

He nodded easily, “Yeah, my Shijie. My parents were old friends of Uncle Jiang, so even though I lost them when was about six, the Jiang family has always been there to give me my home. Shijie . . . you could say she was like my second mother. She’s thinking about marriage you know! How could I call myself her brother if I let her face get shown on nationwide TV whilst she’s trying to keep up such a good front?”

“Aha, yes, it would take a very devoted suitor to stay charmed over such a long distance. Now you say she was like your second mother . . . but what about our own infamous Madam Yu? She’s your mentor, isn’t she?”

“Oh, yeah,” his grin swung back to impish, “And she’s going to murder me for saying this live, but she sure ain’t the nurturing type. That Zidian gets _use_.”

“Ahaha, I can imagine! Any examples?”

“Well, I don’t how many of you have met her - has anyone here done so?” he turned to the audience, several of whom let out cheers, “well, for those of you who haven’t, she has a way of sitting, just so, when she’s mad.”

He quite dramatically unfolded his legs, before arching up his spine and crossing them aristocratically in front. From the laughter it provoked, it was a definitely recognised position.

“And then she’ll oh so casually fold her hands on her knees, and you know it’s not a consequence that the hand with Zidian is always on top, in full view. And she’ll be smiling and that’s about when you know to abort mission. Sorry, Aunty Yu!”

The audience laughed with him as he put his hands together and bowed to the cameras, too solemnly to be serious. Finally, as the swell fell down, the Commentator just leant in closer.

“So, Wei Wuxian,” he clasped his hands together, resting them on his knees, as he prepared the question every Tribute had been asked over the night, “a laugh on your face, but a score of _10 _has us all agape. We’re all dying to know - what is it that _you _want out of the Games?”

Wei Wuxian smiled charmingly, even as his words made Lan Wangji just stare in blank shock, “To have fun, of course! What’s the point of a once-in-a-lifetime experience if you can’t give yourself a laugh about it?”

The audience erupted into applause, rising to their feet as the pair both stood up and Wei Wuxian casually bowed, waving to faceless masses as he skipped off to his seat on the stage.

He was followed by the actual male Tribute from Yunmeng, then Gusu’s female Tribute and over the course of both, it took all of Lan Wangji’s concentration just to breathe.

To have fun

_To have fun_

_Everyone was lying_

Oh, Ancestors, was he about to vomit?

“. . . the Prince of Ice himself, Lan Wangji!”

A peacekeeper lightly pushed him, and he managed to somehow glide out, focusing on one leg, then the other, trying not to think about how much better Lan Xichen would be able to handle this. The roar of the crowd was almost white noise, his head throbbing, as the Commentator shook his hand and sat him down on the chair and oh fuck his lips were moving but Lan Wangji couldn’t hear anything, and his stomach had about ten knots and

Wei Wuxian was watching him piercingly. As soon as they made eye contact, he just grinned, open and encouraging, deliberately taking in two deep breaths.

Somehow, it helped. Irritation fuelled him and he drew himself up to full height.

He would not be looked down upon by that discourteous fool.

Fortunately, his unresponsiveness appeared to precede him, and the Commentator was moving between subjects without needing much more than a slight nod.

“And, we’ve heard it from him, but what about you? How do you find Wei Wuxian?”

Ah.

“The type to die young.” He responded, deadpan and the audience’s laughter almost made him jump. Loudest of them all was Wei Wuxian himself, head thrown back and mouth wide with mirth.

The Commentator laughed along with them, before winding down the questions back on track and if Lan Wangji focused on the small mole on his chin, he could ignore everything else enough to just nod the rest.

“Bring honour to Gusu,” was one phrase he managed to get out.

“To test my blade.” came out for another response he couldn’t just nod for.

“To go home.” Those last words were the only ones coming out of his mouth that he didn’t consider lies. The commentator smiled in a way that was meant to be reassuring but really made him feel like hurling. Somehow he didn’t fall on his face getting out of the chair. Somehow the roar of the audience didn’t make him faint.

Somehow he got into his chair on stage and allowed himself to freeze back over, recoiling into himself for the rest of the Interviews. He felt disjointed, sounds bouncing around him, as they all stood up and bowed to bloodthirsty cheers, before being lead off stage, all in a neat little row.

Ancestors, he needed to sit down. He needed his Uncle. He needed a _guqin_.

“Hey, Lan Er-Gonzi!”

He needed a training ring. He needed a bath. He needed a

“_Oi_, Lan Zhan! Your forehead ribbon’s crooked!”

He just stared, straight ahead, the world focusing so suddenly it spun, all to see white fabric dropping over his eyes.

(No one can touch except . . . no one can touch it except . . . no one but . . .

_HOW DARE HE?!)_

He snatched his ribbon out of the air and Wei Wuxian yelped as it was yanked free from his hands, his usual grin finally (_fina-fucking-lly_) hesitant as Lan Wangji rounded on him.

“. . . It really was crooked,” he almost whispered.

“_You!” _He was barely aware of the way he stepped forward until about four arms grabbed him. Peacekeepers were shouting in his ear, Lan Qiren was by his side, fifty million cameras were flashing over and over and over and

“WEI WUXIAN!”

The bellow silenced them all. Madam Yu stalked out with the sort of imperious authority that could make a god kneel. Wei Wuxian flinched in on himself, and Lan Wangji blinked, realising the other had also been grabbed by the peacekeepers. Had he been about to strike back? Defend himself?

Had he tried to hurt Lan Wangji while his guard had been down?

Had Lan Wangji been about to harm an innocent teenager?

(This is the Games. There are no innocents. No one you can trust. No one you can trust. Everyone is lying. No rules. Live. Everyone wants to live. Everyone wants to kill.)

“Wangji” Uncle’s voice was calm and reassuring on his shoulder. “Let’s go. Madam Yu can deal with that nuisance. Refasten your ribbon.”

His female compatriot was making a big show, yelling at the cameras to back off, as she shot him glances, a calculating look in her eye that he really couldn’t deal with right now.

“Zhan-er.”

“. . . Mm.” He took his Uncle’s arm, ribbon still furiously scrunched up in his clenched fist. He suppressed the tremble as he reached up and looped it neatly around his forehead to tie the knot, refusing to admit that he was fleeing the Interview stadium. 

That night, sleep refused to come.

It was natural. Of course it was.

Tomorrow he was going to be taken to an arena full of twenty-three other children and be expected to come out the last man standing just to go home. Who _would _be able to sleep?

(Wei Wuxian had touched his ribbon. Touched it, pulled it off, grasped it in his tanned crooked fingers)

He rolled over again and looked at the clock.

11.53pm.

Who was he kidding? Curfew had passed hours ago - he hadn’t fallen asleep then, he wasn’t going to now.

Resolved, he swung out of bed, pulled on a thicker robe over his thin inner one - a small comfort, a part of home he was allowed to keep in favour of the thin silk pyjamas of the Capital - and crept out of Gusu’s rooms.

He knew he wasn’t technically allowed to do this, since Tributes stayed in their own rooms in the residence, lest fighting break out in the communal spaces.

But there _were _communal spaces, so surely he was allowed to use them if they were right there?

(He just needed space. Needed to be out from his head. Needed to move)

Lan Wangji arrived at the small communal kitchen and froze.

There was a figure pressed up against the window.

Wei Wuxian turned his head back and he stiffened. Gone was the grin. Gone were the sparkling eyes.

Wei Wuxian stared him down with a half-lidded gaze, chin tilted up and a thoughtful frown on his face.

“Oh, it’s just you, Lan Zhan,” he mumbled, voice soft and curling.

There was a fading mark on his face, Lan Wangji noted. But whilst the handprint was almost gone, there was still a distinct red dent from a ring.

“What are you doing?”

“None of your business.” the other Tribute turned away, pressed up against the glass and expression trained on the outside, “Sorry about the ribbon.”

Internally he flushed at the reminder, but just shoved it aside, and stepped forward.

“Did you mean it?”

“Hm? Of course, I did. I really did just want to straighten it, yet you dared to murder me with that princely gaze alone,” he turned and smiled a thin little thing lacking in teeth, “not so princely, are you?”

He narrowed his eyes and Wei Wuxian huffed a laugh, turning back to the window.

He wanted to walk away, forget about this all. Internally, he just fortified himself.

“. . . I was not questioning your sincerity,” he walked closer, footsteps silent, “do you truly believe the Games to be fun?”

_Are you really that mad_?

Wei Wuxian scoffed, “Of course they are. You get that right? To the people of Capital, this is just a bit of fun - you bet on your favourites, you cry when they die and then you take family vacations to watch re-enactments of their deaths. It’s all just a big fun family festival.”

Lan Wangji knelt down beside him, both looking out the window, bodies pointing in different directions.

“Then . . . what do you want?”

“What is this, Interview 2.0 time?” Wei Wuxian arched a challenging eyebrow, before dropping his head back against the reinforcing column he was leaning against, “. . . I want to win.”

“Everyone does.”

“Everyone wants to live,” Wei Wuxian tilted his head, turning to inspect him critically, “you don’t though.”

His thought processes ground to a halt and he turned to find those silver eyes bearing into his soul.

“. . . I do.”

“No, you don’t,” Wei Wuxian slowly grinned, “honestly, when I look at your face, Lan Er-Gonzi, I don’t think you ‘want’ anything. Do you even have a personality beneath all those rules?”

His eyes narrowed, temper rising, and Wei Wuxian just looked away.

“I made a promise.”

He blinked.

Wei Wuxian gazed out towards the sky. The hand clutching his ankle tightened, ever so slightly.

“Shijie was so mad, you know, about the whole volunteering thing? She said she’d never forgive me if I didn’t come first.”

He let out a small chuckle and glanced back, “See? You asked what I wanted - I want my Shijie’s forgiveness, of course. I want to come home and to have her take my hand and cook me her soup. I want Jiang Cheng to complain about me hogging all the meat, when he goes and does it anyway. I want Madam Yu to scowl and yell at the three of us, whilst Uncle Jiang just smiles and calms her down. And you know something?”

Wei Wuxian smiled, eyes closed to keep the building tears in his eyes down.

“That’s pretty selfish. It’s what I want. I know that, even without me, my family will go on. But I don’t want them too - I want to come back so I can hear them tell me how happy they are, that they couldn’t live without me. How self-centred is that?” He huffed and turned predatory eyes towards Lan Wangji, “But you? Do you want to come home? Or does your family want you to come home so you’re just obliging them?”

He’d moved whilst talking, leaning forward, chin coming down onto his hand and the faint light of the kitchen sending shadows and light in equal measure through his gaze.

_Everyone was lying._

How much of ‘Wei Wuxian’ was a lie? The go-lucky on-screen individual? Or this?

“. . . Wei Ying is cunning.”

Wei Wuxian blinked, before letting out a small laugh, scratching his nose as he dropped back, “Ah, not really. I really am that air headed, I swear. It’s just exhausting when I have to constantly be so.”

He nodded absently, still looking at the ground.

“. . . Brother was crying.”

“Hm?”

“When it was . . . when _I _decided to volunteer,” he swallowed down the slip up with a thrum of his heart rate, “I don’t . . . don’t want him to cry.”

Wei Wuxian blinked before nodding slowly. “Nothing’s more important than family.”

Lan Wangji glanced up and blinked at the fragile smile on his fellow Tribute’s face. And maybe it was just one more lie. But it was enough to let them sit together in almost companionable silence as the moon tracked through the sky beyond the glass.

* * *

Lan Wangji was scared.

But as he stood on a platform, dressed in the male tribute outfit, tailor made for him upon his arrival to the Capital, with a big loudspeaker declaring one minute until the start of the Games, it was the first time he finally (finally) let it show.

His long hair, arranged neatly in a plait, swam around his feet as he crouched over his knees, trying to calm his breathing and only hyperventilating more. His heart was trying to leap out from his chest, it was beating so hard. Was that normal? Was hearing your own heartbeat in your ears normal? It didn’t feel normal. It felt gross. And disgusting. And uncontrollable. And

(And and and and and and)

“Lan Wangji?” a soft hand rested on his shoulder, “Try to take in a deep breath. Follow me. In. Out.”

His stylist, a woman more on the elderly side, with a gentle smile that had struck too much nostalgic longing the first time he saw it, placed a hand on his chest, the other remaining on his shoulder, counting his breaths with him.

_“Fifteen Seconds until platforms rise.”_

He looked over at her, knowing full well all his uncertainty must be showing on his face and she smiled reassuringly.

“I know I can’t do much for you. But Lan Er-Gonzi?” she helped him up and brushed non-existent dust off the thin black pants (Desert? Badlands? Unsheltered ruins? Savannah?), being careful not to touch his trailing ribbon as she adjusted the light reflective jacket.

She gave him one final pat, and it was such an odd gesture that he just stared at her.

She nodded confidently, assurance written in between wrinkles she hadn’t chosen to lose, one of the things that had made her normal in this alien society.

“I’m not a betting woman, but my money’s still on you.”

He blinked.

She gave him one final adjustment and, seemingly happy, nodded to him and stepped back. Translucent walls surrounded the platform and, even with sound cut off, she deliberately placed a hand over her chest and breathed in and out.

He nodded back, hesitated and then pressed his hands into a salute and bowed.

By the time he rose his head, the holding room beyond the platform had been replaced by the pitch black of the arena floor, the platform rising him up and up and-

(BRIGHT)

He flinched on reflex as his eyes hit the sun.

But not the gentle sun of Gusu. Not soft sunrises and serene evenings.

This one _burnt_, sweat already pulled up to his skin, eyes squinted and shaded from the overwhelming light, his entire surroundings dim and non-distinct.

Before him, a golden cornucopia spilled across the terrain, and a countdown began from 60.

He had the Baling female Tribute on his right, and Laoling’s female Tribute on his left. He couldn’t see his own compatriot.

(He couldn’t see Wei Ying)

And around them? 

Around them was stone.

A sun baked plain ran around them, the Cornucopia’s gold reflecting the painful sunlight like a beacon, placed right in the centre. Beyond lay vast echoing canyons, the walls rising stark off the ground, black crevices and caves lining the walls, the only difference coming from an open drop somewhere out to his right.

30

Atop each of the canyons lay elaborate rock features, carved monsters that were probably taller than the Cornucopia itself, each and every one leering down on the ring of twenty-four kids like gargoyles. The walls themselves were an exquisite colour, reds and orange, with black running through them freely like the veins of a dead man. It reminded him of the steppes of Qishan, just noticeably less flat.

Oddly enough, he couldn’t find it within himself to appreciate the natural beauty like he normally could.

_15_

His goal was the Cornucopia. Uncle had been clear. There would be a Gusu-forged sword in there and if he didn’t get it-

(If the Capital didn’t get full value out of their Lan Tribute-)

No. Don’t waste time on distractions. Just focus. Ignore the looks from the other Careers. Ignore the sweat now sticking the braid to his neck. Ignore the sun, _that fucking burning sun_.

_5_

Don’t form the alliance. 

Get the sword and kill them all.

_1_

A loud horn echoed through the arena and he took off at full speed.

His blood roared, harder than ever before, sweat pouring out disgustingly fast, as his feet pounded against the sun-baked earth.

Something brushed his side.

Without even pausing to think, he pivoted, grabbing the offending limb and using his momentum to continue down into a roll, dragging the other Tribute under him, ignoring the pained cry as their shoulder was likely fractured from his lock, simply releasing them and continuing back up to his feet to resume his sprint.

Some others had reached the outskirts of the bounty, snatching up blunt and rusted weapons, hacking them back and forth.

Something hit the ground a bit to his left and a cannon fired.

He slid under a strike, ignoring the goods around him as he headed straight for the Cornucopia itself, dashing in just in time to see two Tributes collide and go down hard, both scrabbling for each other’s necks. There, mounted right at the back, was a pristine white sheath, jade white handle shining. Another cannon fired as he wove through the crates within the horn, leaping onto several to reach up and take it from the wall.

He drew it experimentally and the familiar white shine of Gusu forging allowed the tiniest bit of relief to pass through him.

He turned and the Tribute, about to enter, immediately fled back out.

He exhaled, partially drew out the blade once more and exhaled.

_Kill them all_.

He had to do it. He had to do it.

He couldn’t afford not to do it.

_He could do it_.

Grasping the sheath firmly, gripping the hilt tightly, he prepared to step out into the bloodbath.

He never got the chance.

He _felt _the blast before he heard it. A powerful _whomp _echoing through the floor, giving him just enough time to drop and roll into the safety of the Cornucopia’s innards before the blast reached his ears. Heat raced over the arena and he tucked himself in tight amidst the crates, as an explosion ripped apart the eastern side of the arena. The fighting was silenced, everyone tensed up outside and he peered up in confusion, ignoring the faint ringing in his ears.

Something crashed down. 

Within the refuge of the Cornucopia, Lan Wangji just watched as one of those horrible gargoyles was completely dislodged, flung from the top of the surrounding walls to come crashing down. The Tributes scattered back, only to realise it was just the first.

One entire side of the canyon completely fell apart and screams filled the arena, Tributes sprinting off in all directions, as the carved statues fell first, followed by a sea of boulders and shale. He contemplated it for a moment, before just heading right to the back of the Cornucopia, where the crates were stacked the highest, and climbing to the top.

He felt it too, when the boulders hit the horn, the entire structure battering sideways and every crate slipping and skidding beneath him. The landslide came around the opening, shale pouring in, but the boulders just continued around it, skidding and rumbling to a stop across the central plain.

He remained where he was for a few more moments, but half of the Cornucopia’s area seemed to be the peak distance the collapsed wall could have travelled to so, clenching his sword tightly, he jumped down onto the uneven shale, feet crunching through gravel as he waded out to the opening of the Cornucopia.

He could only just stare.

What had once been flat had become a sea of boulders, thrown together and across the plain like a giant’s playthings. The carved monsters, so easily dislodged, dotted the surrounding landscape, broken into pieces where they were now sticking up from cracked ground. The entire space was devoid of Tributes, most having to run to escape the landslide.

Two cannons.

Two cannons had been sounded and the bloodbath was already over. Normally at least eight were killed, averaging at eleven. One year, eighteen Tributes had died during that first twenty minutes.

_Only two_?

That meant he had to outlast twenty-one Tributes, instead of _twelve_. Was this a tactic of the gamemasters? Had the previous Games ended too quickly because too many people died in the bloodbath? Was it to test their survival skills?

A high laugh echoed over the canyon walls and he looked up, eyes growing incrementally wider.

(Was it a Tribute?)

Wei Wuxian was swinging his legs, perched atop one of the boulders, gazing around with vicious glee. His long hair had been swept up into an informal ponytail, and his outfit was a much deeper red instead of Lan Wangji’s black, the female Tribute colours and style simply tailored for a male physique. The laugh coming from him was new, a self-satisfied giggle that perfectly blended the carefree side with the cunning.

(Lan Wangji disliked it immensely)

“Wei Ying.” his voice echoed over the empty plain, or well, the now boulder strewn landscape.

The laugh cut off as those silver eyes narrowed in on him with frightening efficacy.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian tilted his head, but didn’t make any aggressive movements. 

He narrowed his eyes.

“Was this your doing?”

“Oh, yeah,” Wei Wuxian grinned down at Lan Wangji’s frigid expression, “these canyons are chock full of gunpowder. And look!” he tossed a stone between his hands, before lightly sending it down. Lan Wangji caught it deftly.

“. . . Flint.”

“All the loose rocks are made from it,” he held a hand full of other flint stones, “It’s almost like they want us to blow each other up! Still, I thought I’d be making a distraction - not chain reacting the entire wall to pieces!”

He burst into another bout of laughter, legs swinging giddily, not stopping even as he lightly rolled off, dancing down the loose rocks, long ponytail swinging, footing sure despite the unbalanced terrain.

“Hey, so, Lan Zhan, do you mind if I check out the Cornucopia? I totally ignored it earlier in favour of that landslide, so I’d appreciate taking a look see.”

He dropped beside Lan Wangji, grinning and relaxed, as if they weren’t in a death tournament and his fellow Tribute didn’t have his hand on a sword.

Lan Wangji just huffed and looked away.

“Thanks! Oh, feel free to look too! I won’t do anything!” Wei Wuxian danced into the Cornucopia and began absently digging through the shale to the crates underneath, “I really just wanted to disrupt the script, you know! Tributes die, Careers live, Careers form alliance and claim Cornucopia, rinse, repeat. So boring! I think this is much more interesting. Oh!”

Lan Wangji turned, very interested, as Wei Wuxian fished out a bow and a full quiver of arrows. He pulled the string experimentally, reaching full draw without so much as a twitch. 

Well, that answered one mystery.

No. Focus.

_Focus_.

“Hey, Lan Zhan!”

(This was very non-conducive to focusing)

Wei Ying opened up a crate and rifled through it, “Check it out! Abseiling ropes and gears, and caving lights and batteries! I saw a few cave openings on the side of the canyon walls - I bet they probably cross the whole arena. Here, these ones are good.”

Lan Zhan accepted them wordlessly, before looking at the pile Wei Wuxian was starting to accumulate.

“. . . The biggest lights are best.”

“Huh? I don’t want to carry big ones!”

“No monsters could last long in the sun,” Lan Wangji pointed out. Already, even though it had been barely forty minutes, the inside of the Cornucopia was sweltering, his throat scratchy, “they will all be cave dwelling. Light will blind them.”

Wei Wuxian made a vague rumble of agreement, prodding at the bigger lanterns.

“Maybe, but they’ll use more power. If there’s only batteries that’s going run dry fast. There’s so much sun here, it’d be far better if there were . . .”

He trailed off and they stared at each other, before responding as one.

“Solar panels.”

They redoubled their efforts of scavenging through the shale, rocky debris biting through the thin fabric of their outfits. Eventually Wei Wuxian let out a triumphant cry of delight, Lan Zhan joining his side to help fish out the very well protected metal boxes, containing black glass panels and wires.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian hummed, “things are looking up.”

The sun was setting on the first day when they finally stepped outside, both carrying well stocked packs and four cannons ringing in their ears.

(As Wei Wuxian had mused, there were only so many paths out from the Cornucopia, so someone had to have across the likely infuriated Career)

Lan Wangji had additionally sourced a belt with a loop for attaching his sword’s sheath, and Wei Wuxian had been immensely interested by a bunch of wires and empty casings, hooking them up onto his belt, his still strung bow now looped over his shoulder, an insulating black coat fluttering underneath. Both had grabbed hunting knives to reinforce their individual armadas.

The arena had barely cooled with the loss of the sun, heat still radiating off the ground, and boulders still hot to touch.

“Underground it seems to be,” Wei Wuxian mused aloud, as he had been doing almost non-stop, all day, “even a night battle would be more likely to kill both sides with heat stroke before anyone could actually get shanked.”

Neither mentioned that of all the supplies they had divided up, water had not been included in the Cornucopia. Wei Wuxian just sighed, hefting his pack up, “I’m going to check the surroundings a bit. You?”

_Are you staying or leaving_?

He blinked dismissively, “Finding water is our priority.”

Wei Wuxian immediately beamed, all his teeth shining in the torch light, “Yep! Let’s go, let’s go!”

_Everyone was lying_.

They set off, brisk enough not linger on the hot ground, but not enough to burn out too quickly.

“Let’s check out the south side of the plain, first,” Wei Wuxian held out the compass he’d found, as they picked their way through the boulders, “It was on my left during the countdown, so I couldn’t really see what it became.”

“Mm.”

Wei Wuxian’s landslide had subsumed the entirety of the Cornucopia’s east section, pouring out to the north and south, so they had to skid across a bit of shale on the way over to the open space.

Instead of canyons, what lay beyond was a descending cliff of platform like ridges. Wei Wuxian chirpily leapt down from one to the next, but Lan Wangji crouched to examine them, finger running across the space between each.

“. . . Gaps.”

“Hm?” Wei Wuxian spun around in a whirl of hair, right at the end, where the ridges dropped off completely, “Forget that, look, Lan Zhan!”

He joined the side of the Yunmeng Tribute. Although he couldn’t see anything in the night, that far down, he could _hear_.

Running water. A lot of water.

“Hm hm hm, I know a river where I hear one,” Wei Wuxian boasted, reaching out to a searchlight on his shoulder and switching it on. Almost fifteen metres beneath them lay a running river, speeding through a deep ravine with enough momentum to craft white water.

“I could make that.”

He turned to stare at his companion, doubt in his whole body. Wei Wuxian just grinned wider, hands on his hips.

“Under duress.”

Lan Wangji just shook his head, switching on his own search light to scan the banks.

“ . . . Exit. About twenty metres east.”

“Oh yeah, I see it,” Wei Wuxian switched off his big light and rested his hands up behind his head, “I saw some empty containers in the Cornucopia. We can carry water in them.”

“Rivers are unclean. We should find rainwater. Or purifying pills.”

“It’s a good start though - and honestly, we can just boil it. That works fine back home.”

They backed up from the ridges, traipsing back across through the boulders to the Cornucopia’s opening, Wei Wuxian speaking whatever came to mind, Lan Wangji giving him no discernible answer in return, save for a few hums in response to the observation that the ground was still emitting heat.

In the end, they wandered for several hours, navigating the corridors, Wei Wuxian fiddling with the compass he’d found, shifting it back and forth near the walls, before they eventually found the route to the riverbank. It wasn’t connected to one of the original paths out from the central plain, and so they had to cross through a decent chunk of rocky tunnels to get onto it, but ahead, the river sang out like a divine harmony to their parched throats.

There was plenty of scrub and brush clinging to the ground, so Lan Wangji deftly started a fire, as Wei Wuxian dipped bottles into the river, carting back and forth between the pot near the fire and the bank with the water. It was almost painful, waiting for water to boil, and they really were just drinking hot water after letting the steam fade, but it was more than enough, both taking generous gulps, their raspy throats appeased.

“We should get as much as possible,” Wei Wuxian spoke between mouthfuls, “and I see some caves across the bank - if we head in there, the water will likely be trickling through as well.”

“Mm.”

Any comment Wei Wuxian could have continued with was intruded upon by the National Anthem.

They both looked up as the death cards were shone proudly across the arena’s night sky, only a scant six faces shown at the end of Day 1.

He paused when he saw the other Yunmeng Tribute’s face staring down from the sky, tense, the overwhelmingly short [Blunt Trauma] under his name.

His gaze slid to his companion. Wei Wuxian caught it, and flashed his eyes up.

“Oh, it’s fine. We didn’t really get along, and he told me to stay away from him after we got off the train. I think he found me kind of annoying.” Somehow, he still managed to smile, “No clue why, of course.”

He just sighed, “Wei Ying is incorrigible.”

“Yep! That’s me, all right!” Wei Wuxian fiddled with the dust underneath his fingertips, “He’d been trying to ally with the other Careers, I think. Hunting skills, in exchange for an alliance. Fat lot of good that did him in the arena.”

Lan Wangji stared at his too bland smile, before quickly picking himself up.

“We should keep moving.”

“Mm! Sounds good!” Wei Wuxian bounced to his feet, dusted himself off, and they began the winding route back up throughout the smaller canyons, destination the large one that would lead them to the Cornucopia.

The pebbles shifted.

His hand reached for his sword immediately, as Wei Wuxian crouched low over his knees, their backs together.

Without asking, they both quietened their breathing, all attention diverted to their hearing.

Fingers traced ‘west’ on the back of his leg.

He gave a faint hum in agreement, switching off the light.

More shifting, more pebbles moving.

Three light knocks on the ground.

“Nn.”

He tapped the ground twice with his heel. Wei Wuxian exhaled.

And then he spoke aloud.

“Hey, so, if you guys just want the Cornucopia, go right on ahead. We’re done there. We can just move aside, you go one way, we go the other, all nice and easy. Let’s leave it to the arena to kill us off, huh?”

No response. Just shifts of movement whilst he’d been making a racket, as their two opponents relocated. Wei Wuxian huffed.

“Well, given the less than peaceful nature of this encounter, how would you feel about making a more formal alliance, Lan Zhan? Cause I don’t know about you, but I can’t shoot for shit in the dark.”

He exhaled. Glanced down.

_Don’t form the Career Alliance_.

Wei Wuxian wasn’t a Career though.

“. . . Mm.”

“Heh,” Wei Wuxian held up a hand, “then we’ll be making it to Top 2?”

“Try not to die before then.” He knocked away the hand and Wei Wuxian just laughed, climbing to his feet and switching on his big light. Immediately, shadows were darting for cover, and an arrow appeared in Lan Wangji’s view.

Wei Wuxian was smiling, full of challenge.

“Don’t worry there, Lan Zhan~ I’ll have your back.”

_Everyone was lying_.

He sniffed and properly drew his sword, the faint white shining under the torch. Wei Wuxian reached around and hurled a stone from his pocket.

The figure darted away, but on their other side, another rose quickly and something whistled.

Lan Wangji moved on instinct, deflecting the small missile with a melodic _ting _and watching Wei Wuxian glance over it.

“It’s a scorpion’s tail point - still dripping venom.”

Blow darts then - there was enough scrub and sticks to fashion a pipe.

Lan Wangji just turned and dashed for the one with the blow dart, Wei Wuxian lighting up his path from behind. Another two darts came and he twirled his blade, expertly catching the two airborne missiles and deflecting them.

Ahead, someone - a guy, maybe Moling? - swore and stumbled back.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“Lan Zhan, left!”

He froze in place, guard up to deflect the other dart.

(So, both of them had hand sourced the same weapon.)

An arrow flew, sinking into the rocks with enough force to break through, but the two still managed to dash off in the dim lighting. Unfortunately, with his momentum halted, he had to wait for the flicker across the edge of the light Wei Wuxian was trying to catch them with, off down another crevice.

“They’re heading back for one of the main canyons - probably to retreat into the caves.”

“Let’s go.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan-! _Gah_.”

Wei Wuxian groaned as he followed right behind him, light making the gunpowder in the walls shine, two silhouettes up ahead.

“We don’t have go after them, you know.”

“Find out where they are hiding.”

“Oh. That makes more sense.”

The two ahead suddenly increased their speed, and it wasn’t long before they, too, stumbled out into the wide canyon, only to see the two other Tributes already sprinting ahead of them, heading away from the Cornucopia.

Wei Wuxian sighed, scratching his nose, “Is it worth it?”

Lan Wangji turned to him, thinking, before pausing as the ground rumbled.

“What did you do?”

Wei Wuxian arched an eyebrow, pouting defensively, “_Nothing_.”

The ground trembled again, and they both glanced around, search lights lit up and scanning the surrounding landscape.

Lan Zhan found the source first and he sighed heavily, sheathing his sword.

“Wei Ying. Please refrain from talking.”

“Okay, in my defence,” Wei Wuxian’s voice spiked in pitch as they both backed up, “I didn’t think the gamemasters would take me up on my word _that _quickly.”

They both turned and sprinted after the other two Tributes, as boulders, perfectly spherical and twice their height, came crashing down the sides of the canyon and began rolling towards them, speeding up on the decline.

Lan Wangji just gritted his teeth and increased his pace, looking for a cave, and finding nothing but smooth walls. Wei Wuxian just let out an impressed ‘ooh’, as he danced around and began running backwards.

“Ah. That’s not fantastic. Sorry about all this, Lan Zhan. In fact, from now on, I, Wei Wuxian, vow to make _an attempt _to watch my words-!”

“_Run, you moron!_”

Wei Wuxian glanced at him, offended, hands still held up in in the three-fingered salute.

(He was still running _fucking backwards_)

“Lan Zhan! Here I am, offering you a sign of respect-!”

“Don’t care!”

“Okay, now that’s just _rude_, all I want is to - AHA!”

Wei Wuxian immediately stopped, and Lan Wangji startled as his wrist was grabbed and he was tugged sideways.

Right into a cave.

“The rock face is really slanted here,” Wei Wuxian grinned, as they both panted heavily, retreating into the shallow crevice, shielded from both the sun heated stone and the rolling boulders, “so from one way, it looks smooth, but if you look from the other way?”

Lan Wangji just glowered at him, as the boulders thundered past them, tearing through the canyon.

Wei Wuxian huffed, “Wow, Wei Ying, clearly you thought this through. Aw, thanks, Lan Zhan, but I totally couldn’t have done it without you anxiously looking at every possible thing I might have tripped over. Really? That’s a relief - we make such a good team, don’t we? We sure do!”

“. . . Why?”

“Well, since you’re not really contributing to this conversation, I’m taking it upon myself to carry _both _sides of it.”

He glared at him. “Don’t.”

He ignored the protest, moving to the cave entrance, still covered by a torrent of boulders pouring through the canyon.

Somewhere beyond them, there was a terrified shriek, followed by a cannon.

So, the two ahead hadn’t spotted the hidden caves like Wei Wuxian had. He exhaled shakily. Technically, it still wasn’t their kill - and only one cannon fired.

“Let’s sleep here tonight,” Wei Wuxian suddenly spoke up, backing up deeper into the cave, “I don’t know about you, but sleeping in the Cornucopia is just inviting someone to pick us off. I’m not up for wasting time waiting for the boulders to stop, only for us to get no sleep anyway.”

He nodded his agreement. If the death cards had flashed, then midnight had passed, and he wouldn’t mind at least four hours of sleep.

Yet, as he set down his pack and sword, arranging himself in a protective corner of the small cave, he couldn’t help but observe how little movement Wei Wuxian was making on the other side. Instead of sleep, he seemed wholly interested in some of those casings, fiddling with the gunpowder he’d dug out and the wires.

As if sensing eyes on him, he glanced up and winked.

“Don’t worry, Lan Zhan~ I’ll go to sleep eventually. Unless you want me to come cuddle you?”

He scowled, “. . . Ridiculous!”

“Ahaha, I am, I am!” Wei Wuxian grinned playfully, “I’m not dumb enough to think you don’t know how to sleep whilst remaining alert to your surroundings, I won’t try any BS.”

He frowned, before leaning down onto his back, ribbon ends folded up in his hands, both across his chest, to prevent dirt from getting on it.

He was almost asleep when he picked up soft ringing. His eyes snapped awake and he jolted upright, hand moving to his sword.

Wei Wuxian was bunched up in his own corner, curled around his knees just like the night before (had that moment in the kitchen really been _just _last night?). The Yunmeng Tribute stared at him, open and off guard. In his hands, moving melodically back and forth, was a tiny silver bell.

“A-Ah . . . ahaha, I won’t do it, if it’s going to keep you up.” Wei Wuxian managed to switch back to his usual facade with all the slipperiness of silk, “sorry, Lan Er-Gonzi.”

He tucked it into a pocket on his shirt and Lan Wangji watched it sceptically.

“. . . your token?”

“Yeah, a Yunmeng bell. Uncle gave it to me. We use it to find those who’ve fallen overboard - the fisherman rings it to attract attention.” He shifted, pulling his knees in tighter, “Perfect for me, right? Madam Yu’s always saying I’d die without enough attention. So does Jiang Cheng, now that I think about it . . .”

The diversion was obvious, and Wei Wuxian wasn’t meeting his eyes. Fair enough. Lan Wangji didn’t exactly wish to share the nature of his token with someone who had both breached its ‘no-touch’ rule and was completely unaware of the importance of said rule.

“Anyway, don’t worry about this one! I’ll get some sleep.” Wei Wuxian waved dismissively, pulling his legs in tighter, “We’re now officially a team, right? Of course I trust you! I know you won’t shank me whilst I’m asleep.”

Lan Wangji glared at him for the mere implication that Lan Wangji would attack a sleeping man, before just shoving the other out of his mind, settling back down and forcefully going to sleep.

(When he awoke the next day, Wei Wuxian was already up, fiddling with his casings, rather impressive bags under his eyes. He hadn’t slept a wink.

_“We’re now officially a team, right? Of course I trust you!”_ __

Everyone really was lying)

By the time they returned to the Cornucopia, the sun was up and hotter than the previous day, and things were definitely missing from the last time they’d poked through the golden horn. Not enough to be everyone, maybe a bout three or four Tributes.

“We can’t stay here.” Wei Wuxian spoke aloud.

“Mm.”

“It’s way too hot and this thing is like a microwave.”

“Mm.”

“Not to mention, every Tribute is trying to get here. Staying here is painting a big fat target on our backs.”

“Mm.”

“_But_, if we abandon the Cornucopia then everyone can pick and choose from it. And maybe they’ll kill each other over it, but it also means they’ll have a lot better chance of surviving. Which means more killing.”

“Mm.”

They both stared at the contents they didn’t need, but didn’t want to surrender, thinking.

Lan Wangji personally didn’t mind becoming a target, but he did agree that staying out here was asking to be cooked alive. They needed to really go underground, preferably as close to the river as they could manage and denying other Tributes the gear to do similarly was too good to pass up.

Wei Wuxian suddenly brightened.

“Ah! Lan Zhan, how do you feel about hauling those crates through the boulders?”

He arched an eyebrow and the other Tribute huffed.

“Okay, so I’m willing to take them, Lan Er-Gonzi, but it’d be faster if you helped.”

(In the end, Lan Wangji ended up carrying about ninety per cent, balancing the stacked-up boxes without breaking a sweat as Wei Wuxian just watched petulantly, only being able to move two at a time, one under each arm.)

It took a decent amount of the morning, and another cannon, before they had moved everything to the edge of the ridge, ravine dropping out beneath them.

Wei Wuxian grinned, and bowed invitingly.

He pulled off his sheath and swung the hard, white casing against their shifted tower of unneeded supplies.

Wei Wuxian laughed merrily as they went plummeting down, some visibly spilling out into pieces upon contact, others flung against the surrounding cliffs, smashed apart by the river’s force, the contents quickly becoming waterlogged as the river’s current carried them away.

Wei Wuxian let out a triumphant cry, hands up to the sky as he grinned, “Ahaha! So, Lan Zhan. Of the people who’ve been watching and waiting for us to leave, how many do you think are now pissed?”

They both backed up from the ridge, turning and walking side-by-side towards the lone Tribute standing between them and the now empty Cornucopia. 

She was clutching a blow dart and scowling at them furiously.

“You know, I did offer last night,” Wei Wuxian pointed out somewhat unhelpfully. Her expression twisted and that blow dart came up. Lan Wangji immediately placed himself in front of his ally, sword slipping free of the sheath like water over silk, blade up to catch the substituted dart. Wei Wuxian’s bow was long - good for long distance but cumbersome within short spaces. He didn’t know what else he’d been fiddling with, but the Yunmeng Tribute was definitely the most disadvantaged here.

“Lan Zhan!”

He jumped as Wei Wuxian’s hands shoved him hard, not hard enough to budge him, but enough to warn him to move with the force. A makeshift javelin sailed between them, clearly aimed for his side, as another Tribute came racing out of the caverns in the walls, clutching a glinting rock. Lan Wangji twisted, as the new Tribute went straight for Wei Wuxian, swinging his fist hard. Wei Wuxian danced back, deftly catching the hand and yelping as that sharp stone came down instead.

_Ah. _

_That was blood_.

His heart stuttered.

Lan Wangji arrived at their side in an instant, as Wei Wuxian stumbled back, hand over his eye, and his strike was true. The Tribute coughed blood, eyes wide and white, as the blade pierced clean through his chest. It was all he could to yank it back out, red shining on the beautiful blade, as the cannon blast drowned out the thud of the body hitting the ground.

(His first-)

“Wei Ying!” he dropped down, hand catching the other’s chin, and glancing around. The other Tribute had vanished into the boulders, job as distraction successfully accomplished, so he just turned his attention back to the teen beside him.

“Is it bad?” Wei Wuxian asked, in a little, petulant voice he was definitely putting on, and Lan Wangji sighed in silent relief that he was calm enough to still joke. “I can’t open my eye.”

Shoving away the hand, Lan Wangji inspected the cut. It was deep enough to scar, splitting apart his right eyebrow and cutting down to his cheek. That was it though.

“It didn’t get your eye. It won’t open because it’s too swollen.”

Wei Wuxian exhaled before grinning. “Well, that’s nice. An archer without eyes is pretty useless, huh?”

“We should go,” Lan Wangji ignored the comment, reaching down to sling the other’s arm over his shoulder and drag him up, “that one was new - this alliance is likely multiple people. There could be more.”

“You know, I can walk fine, Lan Zhan, it’s just my face.”

“He came out from the caves - they may try another ambush through them.”

“Then go high?” Wei Wuxian pulled away, dabbing at his bleeding face, left eye open and alert, “some of the canyon walls incline pretty slowly. We could get atop them quick.”

Lan Wangji nodded and then grabbed the other once more despite his protests and dragged him along.

Neither of them mentioned the aircraft coming overheard to retrieve the body behind them, clean stab through the heart staining his shirt red.

They just climbed, up and, up, to where the canyon walls became less even, multiple cliff edges at different heights. Here, they could see nearly all their surroundings, the valleys dropping out beside them, the Cornucopia shining behind them, even an immense mountain rising above them all in the distance.

Wei Wuxian hauled himself up onto a higher ledge, pulling out a dabbing cloth to clean his injury, as Lan Wangji paced along a lower cliff, carefully scanning their surroundings.

The attack came from beneath.

He stumbled back just in time for the ground beneath him to collapse, another Tribute jumping out through the ground, holding a spear made of branches, rocks and Worker Spider thread.

(This group must have hunted down some beasts the previous day, to get enough rewards to construct their gear.)

He dodged the jabs that were, despite the impressive ingenuity of the spear itself, a beginner’s. He’d even seen this Tribute working in the training room and he parried the strikes easily, knocking it off balance and lunging in the opening’s he could find. Before he could land a blow, he vanished back into the hole, hurrying away after the failed ambush. Exhaling, he turned his focus upwards.

Above and slightly to his left, Wei Wuxian smoothly dodged the strikes of the original Tribute, surprisingly agile considering his hindered vision, every movement fluid and calculated as he avoided the tip of the sharpened rock.

There was an odd glint in his eye and Lan Wangji couldn’t help but fixate on the small black sphere in his ally’s hands.

Wei Wuxian moved with joy in his steps and the sun in his eyes, every gesture, every expression, absolutely fearless as he danced around the other Tribute, feet skimming the edge of the higher cliff with every motion.

Deliberately.

As Lan Wangji watched him tip back, hair blowing in the breeze of the arena, he just couldn’t understand it. Wei Wuxian didn’t have any safety ropes out, no wires attached, no water to fall into underneath. Yet he didn’t hesitate as he willingly dropped off the cliff, and the fully functional grenade casing he’d left behind erupted. A cannon blast harmonised with the explosion, booming around them, the Tribute not even having time to scream, as Wei Wuxian _plummeted._

Compared to that, Lan Wangji was . . .

He was . . .

Perfectly situated.

It would be so easy. 

Wei Wuxian was a genius, that much was clear. He was loved by the audience, even more clear. He was the biggest threat to Lan Wangji’s chances of getting home.

_Everyone was lying_.

All he had to do was nothing - Wei Wuxian only had a single continuity plan for that dumb stunt.

_(“We’re now officially a team right? Of course I trust you!”_)

He let his sword hit the ground as he sprinted forward, throwing himself half-over the edge of his own cliff and snatching Wei Wuxian’s wrist as he fell past. The other Tribute grunted as his body came to a sudden halt, Lan Wangji holding onto him grimly with one hand, the other firm against the rocky cliffs as he began to slowly haul him back up.

Wei Wuxian, dangling over the canyon floor, almost ten metres below, nothing to keep him from falling but Lan Wangji’s grip, just beamed.

“Ahaha! Lan Zhan, you really are the best!”

“Reckless,” he grunted, painstakingly working his way back up the cliff, “Fool. Idiot.”

“Oh, give it a rest,” Wei Wuxian grinned, “I knew you’d catch me.”

_He wasn’t lying_.

As he got near enough to the top, Wei Wuxian stretched up his free hand to grab the cliff, halving the work as he pulled himself up, both Tributes rolling back to safety, backs to the ground and panting. Wei Wuxian turned and winked.

His heart thudded.

“Nice save.”

Lan Wangji stared at his fellow Tribute, chest moving up and down with each breath.

For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t scared.

Realising just how far gone he was probably implied that he should be.

(But fuck it.)

**Author's Note:**

> Not pictured:
> 
> LWJ: must stay focused. All that matters is winning  
WWX: exists  
LWJ: aaaand I'm going to completely focus on him now
> 
> LWJ: Wei Ying can't possible trust me  
WWX: yolos off a cliff, only plan being to get caught by Lan Zhan  
LWJ: ????? still catches him 
> 
> LWJ, witnessing that smile: i don't i'm as straight as i thought i was
> 
> Thank you for reading!!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [no stranger would it be (if we met at midnight): Podfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25964887) by [VictoriaNotte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaNotte/pseuds/VictoriaNotte)


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